it’s not something i like to talk about and it’s not something that gives me much pleasure; i do it because i have to. so twice a year, before the freeze sets in and then again before summer approaches, i give myself over to those who have no clue what it is i’m trying to do or say– with my hair.

some of you are rather eloquent; your hair is long and loose, a cascade of waves – like, a breeze in mid-may. or it hangs like a sheet of glass, razor sharp and straight as an arrow. or, you tie it up in a laid-back topknot, and you’re the girl who’s low-maintenance, relaxed, and only have low-grade drama in your life; parking tickets and sometimes your friends laugh how you can be in your head a bit. it’s not annoying, it’s cute – and then i roll my eyes so far into my head i worry they’ll get stuck.

me? i’m a tangled mess. i don’t brush my hair… on purpose. when i wash it, it’s with products that add grit, as opposed to softness and shine. the water makes it clean, the suds i use, do not. i don’t want you to be able to run your hands through it. i’d rather it look dry and unruly.

so. you can understand my irritation with the person and the scissors they wield – who only see me as a head of hair, and not my hair as an extension of myself. now, if my therapist could trim hair – then, perhaps my hair would be closer to my truth.

December 3, 2015

“a little nonsense now and then, is cherished by the wisest men.”// r. dahl

being, as i was, a rather serious kid – i didn’t get into much trouble.

i got good grades without much hardship, (barring any of those subjects that required logic, the use of a protractor or a firm grasp on chemical compounds). i obeyed rules, followed procedure, and coloured within the lines.

sure – i partook in the merits of nicotine, doc martens and black hair-dye, but tallied up, i think i was a pretty good kid. (inna, if you’re reading this, let’s not rehash any details). what i was not, i don’t think, was a light and airy sort of teenager. a sense of humor sure, sarcasm at full tilt, and a lot of fun was had, but i know, it all felt heavier than it was, or needed to be at the time.

years on, i realize what it means to have youth be wasted on the young. it’s only now, advancing in on an age i never dreamed would catch up to me so quickly, that i’m starting to see things with a bit of light, i don’t take myself too seriously, and i can appreciate that now, it’s okay to throw caution to the wind now and again, and have a bit of a laugh – about myself, about life – and if the mood strikes, i’ll wear a silly sweatshirt, don a pin, and head out with eyes staring out, and try not to take it all to heart.

“it seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are still alive. there are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger for them.” // g. eliot

don’t be too quick to be fooled – mary anne evans knew of what she spoke – and called herself george so those who were prone to not take her seriously –would. and i, in turn, wouldn’t dream of taking her words lightly. so, if i were the wishing type, which i suppose i would call getting my hopes up – i’d be dropping hints all over the place so those keeping their ears to the ground wouldn’t have to guess to glean what i was longing for. it is, after all, a very valid point ms. evans made…

November 27, 2015

“better days are coming. they are called saturday and sunday.” // unknown

it’s like i’ve never tgif’d before.

there is so much with the TGIF today that i’m amazed i’m able to focus on getting any work done at all.

the week has been chock-o-block of too much to do, coupled with having had not even close to enough sleep, with the added bonus of needing to take, at minimum, three extra-strength advil per day. so, if you’re wondering where i’m at, i think it’s well and clear; it’s been that kind of week.

you’d know it from one swift glance, you’d be able to tell in a snap. my hair is flat, my nails are peeling, my eyes are bloodshot, and i’ve got about as much vim and vigor in my cheeks as a pile of waterlogged branches. things are not looking peachy around here.

but i can get through one more day, i can fake it until tomorrow, when at least then, i can stay in bed… until 7.30am?

November 25, 2015

“isn’t it awful that cold feet make for a cold imagination and that a pair of woolen socks induce good thoughts!” // f. grillparzer

as it approached 11pm the other night, (the hour that either propels me directly into bed, or compels me to throw caution to the wind and a solid 6 hours be damned); i hurriedly slipped into my dogged hightop vans, collared the dog – and out we went for a little business doing.

only when it was much too late to turn back – the odd 60/40/snow/rain mix was seeping into my unlaced trainers, mingling with now damp socks and increasingly frozen toes. the idiosyncrasies of winter sometimes catch me, and my feet, off guard. i’m forever concentrating on what’s on top, that i tend to leave what’s on the bottom out in the literal cold. it’s been years since i’ve worn appropriate footwear over the course of a winter – i have a feeling that i’ve cottoned on and in the nick of time – this time around.